Though every day on the 4K feels to last forever, this experience in its entirety flies by faster than one could imagine. A mere 13 days remain. And for living such simple lives - eat, sleep, bike, repeat - my world has never been so eventful. I've never experienced such radical and constant change, such a density of decisions to make, such challenging circumstances and such intense time pressure. I feel as though I'm living in a different dimension of life; a world dominated by purpose, passion, and progress; a world in which good is always to be done, goals are always to be had, and gratitude is always to be expressed. Every second that I live within this world is peculiarly powerful and I have only 70 days worth of these sacred seconds.
I came here with an intense emotional attachment to my goals. I wanted to (1) prove that the best way to serve your purpose is to first serve someone else's, (2) continue chipping away at my fear of being a beginner, and (3) acknowledge and change the fact that my entire life, I have been my biggest obstacle. These three goals were of equal importance to me and I planned to invest time and effort into each of them.
Week 1 & 2 of this 10-week journey were defined by my fear of being a beginner and my fear of struggling. Outwardly, I displayed what seemed like sincere disappointment to have Bronchitis and be off my bike. In my inner world, however, I was ridiculously relieved to have an excuse to be in the van instead of on the road. I had hours and hours to grapple with myself over the detriment I'd do, here and everywhere, if I lived a life defined by self-doubt.
Week 3 & 4 were the result of all the time I'd had to think and my reaction to changing circumstances. I knew that my bronchitis would soon be gone and I'd have nothing to hide behind. I over-exaggerated how incapable and underprepared I was in hopes that I would under-promise and over-deliver; in hopes that my teammates would be impressed or at the very least, sympathetic towards me. I was focused on how many of my weaknesses I could disguise and how many of my insecurities I could play off as inabilities.
Week 5 was different. I started to give myself a bit more credit. Not much more, but a bit. I started focusing on my actual abilities and planning to perform according to them. I saw improvement in myself, but still spent an overwhelming amount of time apologizing to my riding groups for being slow, being out of breath, and being the weakest link. They weren't overly receptive to my apologies, but seemed highly receptive to the moments in which I celebrated my own successes and appreciated my own progress.
Week 6 was when it all finally clicked for me. I had come to a personal, emotional, and functional fork in the road, one that was not strategically painted in piercingly pink sidewalk chalk, telling me exactly which way to go. I learned in my last life-changing chapter (Colombia, two page tabs to the left) that I had a tendency to do things that I was already good at; a tendency to avoid places in which I wouldn't immediately succeed. I'd never had an appreciation for process or progress or struggling to get stronger, but somewhere in the middle of Nowhere, South Dakota, things started to change. I can't pinpoint one moment in which I intentionally experienced a change of heart. All I can say is that I woke up one meaningless morning with the courage to find the strength in my struggle and the prize in my pain.
I sat in these reality for a long time and reached a point where every piece of me wanted to be on the road. I wasn't the strongest, but I had become stronger. I wasn't the fastest, but I'd gotten faster. I stopped apologizing for my skill level and started seeing my new-found attitude as a real advantage. I was fighting and I was struggling and I was reaping the rewards of those decisions. I kept in mind that change wouldn't occur without challenge, and that the struggle-filled moments were the moments that I was here for. I saw more than incredible improvement in myself; I saw a future free of the crippling fear that I'd been fighting for years now. I was well on my way to achieving those goals of mine.
Week 7 brought the ugly and the unexpected. As a result of a pretty nasty fall I'd taken a few weeks back, coupled with the intensity of riding so far, so often, I came to learn that I had an injury in my back. I hated not knowing what was going on, I hated the lack of access to MRI's in Montana, and I hated being the only one in this boat. I spent a little over a week in the water van, perfecting the art of efficiently filling water bottles, exploring the most effective ways to pack our excessive stockpile of donations, and contributing to the team in all the non-physically-demanding ways I could think of. I maintained a positive attitude and a high-energy presence, but internally, I was on fire. I had such an eagerness to continue making strides. I counted down the days until the pain withered away and I had a new Start Line to look forward to.
Week 8 came around, bringing that fresh start that I was looking for. My teammates came together in making it a big day for me, dedicating their rides to me and making special mention of the occasion the morning of. I had considerably high expectations of the day and a lot to accomplish. My first day back happened to be the longest day of the trip: 113 miles from beginning to end. I was ready and willing to struggle through all the hills and headwinds that could possibly be thrown at me, praying the whole morning that my injury wouldn't start acting up. Unfortunately, I only made it 33 of those 113 miles. It was an awful feeling to know that my mind and my heart had more than enough ability and desire to continue on, to feel no shortness of breath, and to want nothing more than to be on the bike, but to know that the sensible decision would be to stop. I did what I had to and regretfully returned to my place in the water van.
By far, Week 8 has been the most difficult. I've had to come to terms with the gap between the decisions that make me happy and the decisions that make sense to make. I've had to talk myself out of feeling invaluable to my team and feeling like I didn't do what I came here to do. I've had to acknowledge that I am incredibly emotionally attached to my goals and incredibly discouraged when I run into obstacles that are bigger than me. And most importantly - I've had to accept the humble truth, that being that I did achieve my goal of not being my own biggest obstacle. I didn't anticipate an injury, and compared to the relief I felt way back on Week 1, I never anticipated feeling so devastated about not being able to do what I used to fear: struggle.
Distance-wise, we've come over 3000 miles, but in terms of personal growth, I've come so much further. I owe it to this program, these people, and the purpose with which 4K-ers live and change lives. I'm so blessed and so inspired. I don't know what Week 9 will hold, but even if it's an extended stay in the water van, I'm going to do all I can to execute with excellence. In the words of someone wise, "Four wheels move the body. Two wheels move the soul."
I came here with an intense emotional attachment to my goals. I wanted to (1) prove that the best way to serve your purpose is to first serve someone else's, (2) continue chipping away at my fear of being a beginner, and (3) acknowledge and change the fact that my entire life, I have been my biggest obstacle. These three goals were of equal importance to me and I planned to invest time and effort into each of them.
Week 1 & 2 of this 10-week journey were defined by my fear of being a beginner and my fear of struggling. Outwardly, I displayed what seemed like sincere disappointment to have Bronchitis and be off my bike. In my inner world, however, I was ridiculously relieved to have an excuse to be in the van instead of on the road. I had hours and hours to grapple with myself over the detriment I'd do, here and everywhere, if I lived a life defined by self-doubt.
Week 3 & 4 were the result of all the time I'd had to think and my reaction to changing circumstances. I knew that my bronchitis would soon be gone and I'd have nothing to hide behind. I over-exaggerated how incapable and underprepared I was in hopes that I would under-promise and over-deliver; in hopes that my teammates would be impressed or at the very least, sympathetic towards me. I was focused on how many of my weaknesses I could disguise and how many of my insecurities I could play off as inabilities.
Week 5 was different. I started to give myself a bit more credit. Not much more, but a bit. I started focusing on my actual abilities and planning to perform according to them. I saw improvement in myself, but still spent an overwhelming amount of time apologizing to my riding groups for being slow, being out of breath, and being the weakest link. They weren't overly receptive to my apologies, but seemed highly receptive to the moments in which I celebrated my own successes and appreciated my own progress.
Week 6 was when it all finally clicked for me. I had come to a personal, emotional, and functional fork in the road, one that was not strategically painted in piercingly pink sidewalk chalk, telling me exactly which way to go. I learned in my last life-changing chapter (Colombia, two page tabs to the left) that I had a tendency to do things that I was already good at; a tendency to avoid places in which I wouldn't immediately succeed. I'd never had an appreciation for process or progress or struggling to get stronger, but somewhere in the middle of Nowhere, South Dakota, things started to change. I can't pinpoint one moment in which I intentionally experienced a change of heart. All I can say is that I woke up one meaningless morning with the courage to find the strength in my struggle and the prize in my pain.
I sat in these reality for a long time and reached a point where every piece of me wanted to be on the road. I wasn't the strongest, but I had become stronger. I wasn't the fastest, but I'd gotten faster. I stopped apologizing for my skill level and started seeing my new-found attitude as a real advantage. I was fighting and I was struggling and I was reaping the rewards of those decisions. I kept in mind that change wouldn't occur without challenge, and that the struggle-filled moments were the moments that I was here for. I saw more than incredible improvement in myself; I saw a future free of the crippling fear that I'd been fighting for years now. I was well on my way to achieving those goals of mine.
Week 7 brought the ugly and the unexpected. As a result of a pretty nasty fall I'd taken a few weeks back, coupled with the intensity of riding so far, so often, I came to learn that I had an injury in my back. I hated not knowing what was going on, I hated the lack of access to MRI's in Montana, and I hated being the only one in this boat. I spent a little over a week in the water van, perfecting the art of efficiently filling water bottles, exploring the most effective ways to pack our excessive stockpile of donations, and contributing to the team in all the non-physically-demanding ways I could think of. I maintained a positive attitude and a high-energy presence, but internally, I was on fire. I had such an eagerness to continue making strides. I counted down the days until the pain withered away and I had a new Start Line to look forward to.
Week 8 came around, bringing that fresh start that I was looking for. My teammates came together in making it a big day for me, dedicating their rides to me and making special mention of the occasion the morning of. I had considerably high expectations of the day and a lot to accomplish. My first day back happened to be the longest day of the trip: 113 miles from beginning to end. I was ready and willing to struggle through all the hills and headwinds that could possibly be thrown at me, praying the whole morning that my injury wouldn't start acting up. Unfortunately, I only made it 33 of those 113 miles. It was an awful feeling to know that my mind and my heart had more than enough ability and desire to continue on, to feel no shortness of breath, and to want nothing more than to be on the bike, but to know that the sensible decision would be to stop. I did what I had to and regretfully returned to my place in the water van.
By far, Week 8 has been the most difficult. I've had to come to terms with the gap between the decisions that make me happy and the decisions that make sense to make. I've had to talk myself out of feeling invaluable to my team and feeling like I didn't do what I came here to do. I've had to acknowledge that I am incredibly emotionally attached to my goals and incredibly discouraged when I run into obstacles that are bigger than me. And most importantly - I've had to accept the humble truth, that being that I did achieve my goal of not being my own biggest obstacle. I didn't anticipate an injury, and compared to the relief I felt way back on Week 1, I never anticipated feeling so devastated about not being able to do what I used to fear: struggle.
Distance-wise, we've come over 3000 miles, but in terms of personal growth, I've come so much further. I owe it to this program, these people, and the purpose with which 4K-ers live and change lives. I'm so blessed and so inspired. I don't know what Week 9 will hold, but even if it's an extended stay in the water van, I'm going to do all I can to execute with excellence. In the words of someone wise, "Four wheels move the body. Two wheels move the soul."